Hannie Rising Read online

  He spoke first. "It's quiet here in the morning."

  "It usually is before nine," she replied. "Business picks up in the afternoon."

  "Do you come here often?"

  "Not really, but this morning I need the caffeine. I'm on my way to a meeting at work, one I'm not looking forward to and the coffee will sharpen my wits."

  "Tell me about it," he suggested. "Give the caffeine some time to kick in."

  And so, without more than a second to think, beyond checking her watch, Johannah did something she'd never done in her fifty years on the planet. She sat down beside a perfect stranger and spent the next twenty minutes drinking coffee and describing what it was like to work at the Health Executive for the likes of penny-pinching Gerry Fox with too little funding and even less time to make an effective difference in the lives of any of the poor souls that were part of her caseload.

  Later, upon reflection, she could only attribute her inexplicable and inappropriate self-disclosure, to the odd feeling that he reminded her of someone she knew. While the incident was somewhat embarrassing in retrospect, she couldn't be sorry it happened because of what followed: verbalizing her situation had obviously cleared her mind enough so that when she walked into the meeting and Mr. Kennedy began complaining to the County Council that the land adjacent to the Senior Citizen's facility wasn't needed and should be sold, Johannah had jumped in explaining that the land was definitely needed, cited statistics showing that the demand for additional senior housing was increasing by the hour and that there was even now a waiting list for future sites. Her defense was spirited enough that the County Council voted unanimously to hold on to the property.

  The incident had given her such confidence she decided she was up to visiting her mother and picked up a plate of take-away from the local Chinese Restaurant. Dolly had been unusually cooperative, thanking Johannah for thinking of her and not mentioning the short duration of her stay or the fact that both of her sisters had fared better than she had as far as their marriages were concerned.

  Then, just as she'd walked in the door, the phone rang. As it turned out, Liam and Kate were coming for dinner, just the two of them. They'd rung separately, Liam first and then Kate. She couldn't remember a time when they were last together, the three of them, without Kate's husband, Dermot, little Evan and whichever supermodel Liam was dating at the time. Johannah hadn't asked how they managed to get away. It was enough that they were coming and she would have them, her precious children, to herself for a few brief hours.

  Now, everything was nearly ready. She poured the batter into the pan, opened the oven door and balanced it carefully on the top shelf above the roasting pork loin. Setting the timer, she glanced at her watch. They would be here in less than an hour, just enough time to set the table, pick a bunch of daffodils for the centerpiece and toss the salad.

  * * *

  Kate

  The unlucky customers who had the misfortune to shop in Kelliher's Hardware Store that Friday afternoon steered clear of the young woman manning the register until they absolutely found what it was they were looking for and had no alternative but to pay. Then, mumbling inaudible thanks, they beelined for the entrance vowing to take their business elsewhere. The occasional few who had the temerity to greet Kate and inquire as to the nature of her ill humor were quickly routed with a fierce, "Mind yourself. My business is my own."

  Kate Kelliher, nee Enright, was angry. She'd been angry for a long time, it felt like years. She'd narrowed down the root of her misery to her marriage. Ever since she'd been mindless enough to marry Dermot Kelliher and set up housekeeping in the tiny apartment over the hardware store his family had owned for generations, happiness had eluded her. The flat was no place to raise a child, not to mention two adults who were constantly banging into each other every time someone wanted a cup of tea or a snack from the cupboard. The bathroom was so cramped there was no need for a lock on the door. All she had to do was sit on the toilet in the natural position. One knee, the left one, and the corresponding forearm would be involuntarily pressed up against the door so tightly there was no possibility of anyone surprising her in the act.

  There was a time when Kate had laughed at the inconvenience. That was years ago, before Evan, and long before she realized this would be it, the height of Dermot's ambition, to work in the family store and live, rent free, in this microscopic set of rooms.

  She hadn't intended for her life to end up this way. Kate had been to America on an exchange during her third year at university. She'd easily acclimated to automatic transmission, garbage disposals, French toast with maple syrup and mixers that guaranteed water would pour from the tap at the perfect temperature. She wanted frost-free refrigerators and ice makers and coffee shops that opened for breakfast on Sunday mornings and restaurants that weren't bars. She wanted perpetual hot water without having to remember to flip a switch thirty minutes ahead of when she needed it, and heat that turned on and off according to a preset temperature.

  She wanted to live in a world that wasn't obsessed by trash, where to store it and where to dispose of it, in the brown, green or white recycler, in the paper and package dumpster, in the compost pile in the garden or, God forbid, surreptitiously into one of the bins opposite a grocery store, strip mall or take-away express.

  She wanted to never see another clothesline with flapping drawers and baby nappies. She wanted ranch dressing for her salads, Splenda for her coffee and tall, sweet, sweating glasses of lemon-flavored iced tea on an outdoor patio with a thermometer that read eighty degrees. She wanted checkers in supermarkets to bag her groceries instead of watching with their arms folded while she juggled plastic bags, a coin purse and a baby pram. She wanted plastic bags at no charge when she forgot hers in the car. She wanted to pay three dollars, not six euro for a pastry and a cup of coffee and she wanted to sit in an outdoor café to eat and drink them. She wanted to wake up without thinking about the weather, engage in conversations that had nothing to do with weather and shop for food without taking an umbrella.

  America was perfect. So what if no one could brew a decent cup of tea or that the doors in the bathroom stalls only came down as far as a woman's knees which really wasn't very nice at all. So what if white woman never pushed their own babies in their prams or cleaned their own houses? These were small things, hardly significant at all. She wanted it back, the life she left, the entire package.

  Most of all, Kate wanted Ritchie O'Shea to divorce his American wife, come back to Ireland and shock all the gossips by walking down Castle street with his arm around her waist. Actually, if she were completely truthful with herself, and she nearly always was, it wasn't Ritchie she wanted. She'd given up on Ritchie long ago, but she did want someone very like him. She wanted all the spiteful women who remembered that she'd been jilted to fall off Fenit Pier in the middle of a very cold rain. She wanted them to know that once upon a time she had a career, not a job, that their deliberate references to her marrying up were rude and boring and that, in another lifetime, she could have bought and sold every one of them ten times over if she'd cared enough.

  Coming home had been a mistake. She should have forgotten Ritchie, finished up in Boston and stayed on. Maybe, if she'd pushed a bit, Stuart Walker, the boy she'd dated for nearly six months, would have offered marriage. She didn't love him, but at least she would have been rich. She could be sitting on the deck of his family's cottage in the Hamptons this very minute enjoying one of those odd drinks with the little umbrellas sticking out of the top. Instead she'd come home and ended up with Dermot, his parents and the hardware store.

  Kate wanted out, away from Tralee and the town park, from the Stacks, Kevin Barry's, Strand Row, Ballymullen, Cahirweesheen, all the neighborhoods, and Castle Street, The Square, Manor Retail Park, the damn John Mitchell's Football Club, Tesco's Supermarket on Tuesdays, Dunnes in town on the weekend, Garvey's in a pinch, The Tankard, Katie Browne's and the inevitable pubs, Betty's, The Huddle, The Greyhound and what passed fo
r jazz in Tralee on Sundays.

  Ever since Ritchie O'Shea threw in the towel, sacked Jimmy Fitzgibbons for passing out during a paid gig, gave out to Johnny Fleming for corruption and boozing, and took himself and his saxophone to the States ten years ago thereby breaking Kate's heart, nothing that met the definition of jazz existed in present day Tralee.

  Her father had warned her, not strenuously, mind you. Mickey Enright wasn't one for pointing fingers or sticking his nose into your business. But he'd tried to tell her just the same, right before he'd walked her down the aisle. "Katie, love, we can forget the whole thing if it's what you want. Don't mind the expense or the party. I'll take care of it. Marriage is forever, you know. You don't want to be making a mistake that you can't fix."

  God, how she missed Mickey. Twin tears collected in the corners of her eyes. Hurriedly, she brushed them away. How dare he up and die like that, when she desperately needed him, before anything was settled? Nan was no help. She was dotty as a loon and getting worse every day. Liam was only concerned about himself and the latest Miss Ireland he could talk the drawers off of. That left Mom.

  Normally, Kate wouldn't have minded asking her mother for anything. Johannah Enright had always been a soft touch. But there were some things her mother steadfastly refused to consider, and one of them was the breaking of a sacrament, particularly the marriage sacrament.

  If Kate wasn't at her wits end and so miserable she couldn't even mother Evan properly, much less drag herself out of bed for her job at the Kerry County Council three days a week, she would never consider approaching Johannah for the huge imposition she was about to ask for. Her mother had been through enough. She was finally standing on her feet and even found the time to mind Evan whenever Kate needed her. It wasn't that she hadn't tried. It was simply that she had nowhere else to turn. What a coincidence that Liam would be there, too. Liam didn't usually show up in the middle of the week. Kate wondered what it was that he wanted.

  * * *

  Liam

  Two years ago, Liam Enright had been on top of the world. Now, just eighteen months after the collapse of the building industry and, subsequently, the once lucrative real estate market where he'd plunked all of his proverbial eggs, he was flat broke. He'd resisted as long as he could, managing to pair up last-leg commercial buyers with real estate loans, but when that market dried up completely, he knew there was no alternative but to follow his mother's advice and finish his education.

  On the occasions when he was completely honest with himself, Liam admitted that the role of estate agent didn't really suit him. There were those moments when an industry standard seemed nothing short of crooked, such as when he'd talked a reluctant buyer into submitting an offer only for the purpose of waving it in front of another buyer for an even better offer. Gesumpting they called it. Liam called it snow-balling the innocent. Still, parting an Irishman with his money was no easy task and one needed to make a living.

  His mother had warned him of the pitfalls but Liam, blinded by what he thought would be easy money, hadn't listened. At the time he believed there was no alternative. Although he'd done well on his exams, he was tired of school and uninterested in the trades, nor was he particularly handy. The few times he found himself in the position of attempting to help his father, Mickey had shaken his head in exasperation and sent him into the kitchen using the need for a cup of tea as an excuse.

  Lord, how he missed his dad. His father understood him as no one else ever could. Liam abhorred physical labor. His one venture into construction consisted of three months on the tools with his dad. It was a nightmare he'd prefer to erase from his memory as well as a lesson in humility. Climbing up and down a ladder countless times, hammering his fingers, working outside exposed to the cold and rain were scenarios he refused to consider as his life's work. Real estate was booming and, for the first time in history, the Irish had money to spend. For five years he'd benefited. He liked working in an office, wearing a suit and tie, interacting on the telephone. He liked the varied pace of his days, the challenge of making a sale, the adrenalin rush of competition.

  Then it all crashed. His loans dried up, stocks went down and Fiona, his girlfriend of two years, left him. His mother's words came back to him. An education is never wasted. No one can take it from you. He saw the merit in acquiring a body of knowledge necessary enough to society to command a decent income. University called. Marketing was his love, but he would temper it with a body of knowledge like economics, something he could put to good use even when the economy went sour. But he couldn't do it alone. Hence, the phone call to Johannah.

  He'd thought long and hard about involving his mother. There was something slightly shameful in expecting his mother to support him. He was twenty-six after all. However, it was only for a short time, two years at the most. Besides, he rationalized, she wouldn't mind having him home again. She was his mother. She was probably lonely. She would welcome the company.

  His mother mentioned that Kate would be there tonight, too. Liam frowned. Kate was usually at home during the week cooking for Dermot and Evan. He wondered what it was that she wanted.

  Chapter 5

  Johannah

  Johannah sprinkled rosemary over the lamb chops, turned up the flame under the new potatoes and began chopping scallions for the salad. Thank goodness for Tesco Supermarket and the European Union. Not all that long ago food in Ireland was limited to stewed meat and boiled turnips.

  "Hi, Mom," Liam's voice called out from the back entrance. "Something smells grand." His familiar form, green-eyed and dark-haired like her people, tall and deep-chested like the Enrights, stood framed in the doorway. He held up a grocery bag. "I stopped at the off-license for wine. Will you have a glass with me?"

  Johannah hesitated. Would the combination of alcohol and her children always be difficult for her? It was Mickey, of course, and his excesses. But Mickey wasn't here. She smiled brilliantly and artificially. "I'd love a glass."

  He found the Waterford in the cabinet, poured two glasses and handed her one. Johannah kissed his cheek. "You're early."

  Liam nodded. "There's something I need to talk with you about and I wanted to do it before the rest of them corralled you."

  "There will only be Kate. She's coming alone."

  Liam's left eyebrow rose signaling skepticism. "Really?"

  Johannah nodded. The wine was really quite nice. She was feeling it already, the consequence of an empty stomach. "She wants to discuss something with me, too. You wouldn't happen to know what it is?"

  "I don't, but if it's money, tell her you can't do it. Kate always needs money. She'll bleed you dry."

  "That isn't very charitable, Liam. Kate is your sister. She'd do anything for you." Johannah changed the subject. "You're looking well." He wasn't, actually. He looked tired, but there would be no point starting in on that. "What is it you want to talk about?"

  She watched the color stain his cheeks and heard the soft, nearly imperceptible catch of his breath. Uh oh, she thought. Another girl gone by the wayside. Johannah couldn't be particularly sad about Fiona. She had never liked her. The girl was too selfish, too phlegmatic, and too infuriatingly thin. Liam was constantly doing for her, with little thanks. But then Liam was always tangled up with some woman. There was the trip to Singapore to meet that girl he found online, the one with the enormous family who lived in huts with lizards running up and down the walls, and the one from some unheard of country in Africa who demanded an Air France ticket and ten thousand euro to bring gold out of the country. Fortunately he hadn't fallen for that, but there was a scare involving a Russian girl whose photograph revealed a remarkable resemblance to Catherine Zeta Jones until it became clear that the picture was Catherine Zeta Jones. Johannah was about to voice her sentiments when his next sentence stopped her.

  "I've decided to take your advice and go back to university."

  Johannah's mouth dropped. "Liam," she gasped, "that's wonderful. I couldn't be happier."

  Hi
s smile was tight. "The thing is, I can't afford it on my own."

  "Your marks were high. It shouldn't cost you anything."

  "Living expenses aren't covered," he explained.

  Johannah sipped her wine and swallowed carefully. The paper cut on her finger from this morning throbbed. "Will you be working at all?"

  "There's no work to be had, not where I am anyway. I know you can't help with the money but I thought I might move back here and save on rent and food."

  "I see." She set down her wine and turned back to the salad. Mechanically, she began dicing a tomato. Why did children never understand that food cost money? Her mind raced. Oh God. Why me? Why did other people's children find jobs, move out, marry suitable people, take out mortgages and settle down to raise families? Why were her offspring incapable of managing the business of living? Liam was twenty-six years old.

  Johannah was conscious of the ticking clock and the sound of her silence, proclaiming her feelings louder than words. Steady, Johannah. Steady now. You don't want to say something you'll regret. "It sounds as if you've spent some time thinking about this," she managed.

  "I have. The housing market has dried up. I'm not getting any younger. I have no trade and no education. I have to do something to make my own way."

  Encouraged, Johannah nodded. At least he was thinking clearly. It wouldn't be too dreadful having him home. Certain things would have to change. Gone would be the evenings when she read on the couch through the wee hours with all the lights on and music blaring to counter the insomnia she couldn't shake. Meals would be different, too. She couldn't very well continue her practice of a hard-boiled egg and glass of tomato juice with a child in the house. Her recent haphazard practice of handwashing clothes in the kitchen sink and draping them over the radiators whenever she felt like it would be replaced by her original method of regular laundry days complete with machine and clothing on the line.